


What Bree Did

by isquinnabel



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Lost
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 14:50:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isquinnabel/pseuds/isquinnabel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bree ignores his mother's warnings and goes wandering on the Southern slopes of Narnia, he ends up much farther from home than he ever could have imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Bree Did

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aurilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurilly/gifts).



> Thanks to ozqueen for the lovely squeeleading and to linzbritcrazed, fearless beta ♥
> 
> Written for Crossover Exchange 2012, with the prompt, "When one door closes, another opens."

\-------------

 

“My mother warned me not to range the Southern slopes, into Archenland and beyond, but I wouldn’t heed her. And by the Lion’s mane I have paid for my folly.”  
\--Bree, _The Horse and His Boy_

 

\-------------

The first time, it happened by accident.

Bree was still a foal; young enough to enjoy frisky chasing games, but old enough to boast a basic understanding of his homeland’s geography. When he chased a butterfly over a hill near the southern edge of Narnia, he knew something was wrong the second he caught a glimpse of the sea. He came to a sudden halt, leaving skid marks in the sand. The air in his nostrils had a distinct salty tang, and wide, blue ocean stretched endlessly in front of him.

“Impossible,” snorted Bree. “There’s no sea to the South.”

The butterfly was gone. He turned around and began to trot home, conveniently ignoring the waves crashing behind him.

 

-

 

Bree had always been a stubborn horse. It took two or three similar occurrences before he almost began to consider admitting to himself that there might be a slight possibility that something strange was happening. Maybe.

One evening, after yet another glimpse of this mysterious ocean, he spent his journey home lost in some serious thought.

“Is there another sea to the South?” he asked that night. His casual indifference, carefully rehearsed for hours beforehand, raised immediate alarm bells in his mother’s mind.

“No, of course not,” she replied, fixing him with a stern glare. “Archenland is South of us. After that, it’s just the desert and Calormen.”

“The desert is a big place,” he countered. “There could be anything in there.”

“There certainly isn’t any sea. Otherwise it wouldn’t be a desert.” 

This was exactly what Bree had thought, but he couldn’t help arguing the point.  
“Maybe there is a sea. Maybe no one has looked in the right place, and it’s just never been found.”

Bree immediately regretted saying this, because she launched into a sharp rebuke.

“The Southern slopes are dangerous, Bree. Older and wiser beasts than you have been captured by bandits or attacked by wild beasts out there.”

Bree kept stonily silent, resenting the implication that he wasn’t wise. His parents had an irritating tendency to think that anyone born after the Long Winter was a complete idiot.

“Bree, you mustn’t wander too far,” she pleaded. “There are dangers in this world that you just don’t understand. Narnia is safe and comfortable now, and that’s more than your Father and I ever had at your age. Please, be content with what we have. Promise me that you won’t wander too far.”

“Mother,” he sighed. “For the hundredth time, I promise.”

 

-

 

The good thing about such a promise, reflected Bree, was that it was difficult to properly break. After all, who really knows exactly what _too far_ means?

 

-

 

Over the next few months, he learnt the trick for finding the secret beach. On the crest of a low hill, the branches of two yew trees formed a crude sort of arch. When Bree walked through it, facing north, nothing at all out of the ordinary happened. However, if he went southward through the archway, he found himself on a wide expanse of sand.

It wasn’t the desert. He’d never seen the desert beyond Archenland, but he was absolutely certain that this wasn’t it. This beach’s location in comparison to his known world was endlessly puzzling for Bree. Like all of Narnia, he knew that the reigning Kings and Queens had come from another world, and he enjoyed toying with this idea. It seemed very farfetched to him but maybe, just maybe, he had stumbled upon another world. Just like the Royal Children had once done. 

However, to be perfectly honest, Bree didn’t dwell too much on whether or not it was another world. He was never quite certain that he liked it there (the air felt much heavier and stickier than the cool Narnian woods, and he couldn’t stay long without desperately needing a drink), but he did enjoy the satisfaction of discovering his own private beach. Each time he arrived home with bits of sand lodged in his hooves, he couldn’t help feeling rather pleased with himself.

 

-

 

A small part of Bree truly believed that his secret beach would remain secret forever. He diligently kept the whole affair very quiet, and he was extremely careful to avoid being followed during his many visits. He had even developed a hazy mental image of one day showing his own foal the knack of getting through the doorway.

Of course, nothing ever works out the way you’d like it to.

One chilly morning, he slipped through the archway and he immediately froze. All of the usual abnormalities were there: a grey, overcast Narnian morning became bright with midday sunlight; his hooves suddenly sank into sand, instead of clip-clopping over hard dirt; and the air became as uncomfortably heavy and humid as ever. But these were at least natural kinds of discomfort. There was something else in the air today, something foul and terrible, a stench that Bree had never before encountered. A Narnian horse can’t possibly be expected to recognize the smell of burning jet fuel, but they can certainly recognise danger when it’s right in front of them. He would have been back in Narnia immediately if he hadn’t noticed the woman collapsed under a distant tree.

He galloped forward in alarm, briefly mistaking her for the Queen Lucy or Susan. But this wasn’t either of them; it was some other human woman, blood staining her knuckles and trickling across her forehead.

“Hello?” he murmured, nudging the side of her face. “Are you alright? Wake up... wake up!”

She was breathing. She was definitely alive, but she remained completely still. 

When her eyelids began to flutter, he sighed with relief. He was moments away from talking to her, easing her awake, but the words died before they came. He started to back away, panicking at the enormity of the situation he’d found himself in. Bree was still young, and hadn’t yet had gained the level-headedness of an experienced war horse. All the potential dangers he’d been ignoring came rushing to his head all at once. He knew nothing about the secret beach or its inhabitants. What if this woman was a bandit? She might have already heard him speak; what if this was a country that captured talking beasts and displayed them in zoos?

The woman stirred, and Bree’s instincts took over. He bolted for the archway, not even pausing to glance over his shoulder.

 

-

 

For the next month, Bree kept his distance from the Southern slopes. Over and over again, he told himself that this was simply because it was harvest time and he was far too busy to visit the beach. Talking beasts had a certain duty to fulfill: even in times of peace and prosperity, there were jobs to be done and high standards to be upheld. 

An added benefit of harvest time was that the labour completely wore him out. Every night, he went immediately to sleep, with no time to dwell on hidden beaches or mysteriously injured humans.

 

-

 

Bree scuffed his way along a dirt path near Lantern Waste, idly listening to the sound of his hooves crunching through the fallen leaves.

_She’s fine. You did all that anyone could possibly expect of you._

He’d become quite good at noticing little sounds in the woods. Part of preventing anyone from following you was staying alert to any sound or scent, however small. However, he was very far from this frame of mind. He barely noticed when a Crow, one of his parents’ oldest friends, alighted noisily on a nearby branch.

“Hello, Bree!” he squawked happily. 

Bree had been well trained to respect his elders, and he responded politely. He wasn’t really in the mood to hear gossip about trade agreements with Telmar or the arguments among the Rabbit families, but he dutifully relented. He managed to maintain adequate conversation, the Crow hopping from branch to branch above him.

_She’s probably fine; humans are a tough species._

“Bree,” he eventually said, “are you alright? You haven’t been yourself lately.” 

Bree quickened his pace, falling into a proud trot.

“Of course I’m alright,” he answered, tossing his mane.

_She’s fine. She’s definitely fine._

 

-

 

Bree hovered near the archway, peering nervously over his shoulder. A light breeze rustled through the tree boughs, and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

He was being ridiculous. If he was going to go, he should just go. None of this hesitating-by-the-doorway nonsense.

After one last glance around the woods, he took a steadying breath and set his face toward the yew trees.

Once he was through, he found the beach back to its normal state. The terrible smell from the last visit was gone, but it still didn’t feel right somehow. He stood motionless by the archway, concentrating hard. In the tips of his ears and nose, he could almost feel a distinct _buzz_ that seemed to come from the air itself. (This was the worst of waiting too long to be meticulously observant; you could never be sure if some detail was brand new or if it had always been that way.)

He spent a few moments collecting himself, getting used to his situation and any distinctive landmarks, before forging ahead. This was a big place, and she could be anywhere.

The beach was next to some sort of jungle, but he’d never ventured very far into it before. It was a mess of vivid fronds and trees, shades of green completely different to anything he’d seen in the Narnian woods. It wasn’t more beautiful than Narnia ( _nothing_ could be more beautiful than Narnia, he thought) but it had its own unique appeal. It felt luscious and rich in a strange sort of way, possibly more due to the air than the plants. This place always made Bree feel like he was stuck under a woolen blanket soaked in warm water. It was uncomfortable, but it worked somehow. It seemed right for this place.

He’d been struggling along a rough, overgrown path for what felt like hours before he heard a succession of soft thuds.

Several yards in front of him, some pieces of ripe fruit had fallen to the ground. He looked up and, high in the tree, was a woman.

He kept his distance, not yet convinced it was human, let alone the same human as before. He doubtfully eyed the height she had climbed to. She wasn’t dressed like any dryad he’d ever met, but did humans usually climb so high? During Narnia’s harvest, any fruit that far out was picked by animals that lived in trees. Squirrels, for example, were used to scaling impossibly dizzy heights.

He watched her climb, clambering down the tree in a way that confirmed her species. She was no dryad. He couldn’t be sure – her hair was blocking her face – but he was almost certain that this was the same human as before. He indulged himself in a premature mix of relief and a self-imposed _I told you so_. If this was the same woman, there was absolutely nothing wrong with her. He hadn’t left her to die helplessly under a tree. He had no blood on his hooves.

She was picking up the fruit that fell to the ground, her back towards him. This wasn’t enough. He had to see her face. Otherwise, he’d return to Narnia and doubts would gnaw away at his heart all over again.

The jungle was silent. Heart pounding, he blew hard through his nostrils to get her attention. She whipped around and, immediately, he knew. It was her. It was the same woman from before.

There was recognition in her eyes, too. She took a small step towards him, but this was far more than Bree was willing to risk. He’d got what he needed. With a sharp whinny, he turned and cantered back towards Narnia.

 

-

 

“Bree!” His mother’s eyes flashed angrily, taking in the sand that clung to his legs. “Where in the _world_ have you been?”

“The seashore,” he snapped, insulted by her tone. It wasn’t exactly a lie, so he didn’t feel too guilty about this answer.

“The shoreline is a day and a half to the east, and you left here soon after your breakfast this morning. You haven’t been to any beach! You’ve been to the desert!” 

“I haven’t!”

“You promised me that you wouldn’t wander too far!”

He stamped his hoof, almost quivering with frustration. “I didn’t wander far at all! I’m not a fool, Mother, I know how to stay safe!”

“You’re covered in sand, Bree. You obviously don’t know any such thing.” She looked straight at him, eyes narrowed. “You’ll be staying right here for the next week. If I can’t trust you not to wander too far, you shouldn’t be leaving home at all.”

 

-

 

Bree had never been so angry. He wasn’t fool enough to go traipsing through the desert, and Mother should know that! He knew how to keep himself safe, and he knew how to recognize danger. He had proved it over and over again, by returning absolutely unharmed from the secret beach. Her lack of trust in his judgment was utterly insulting.

The next day, first chance he had, he snuck away. He was careful to take a roundabout route to the Southern slopes, in case any of his parents’ friends saw him wandering about. He wasn’t going to let anyone ruin his plan. He knew – he just knew – that the secret beach wasn’t dangerous. He was positive he just unnecessarily panicked that day when he first saw the woman. It had happened well over a month ago, and he felt that he’d matured significantly since that day. Bree felt absolutely certain that she was no bandit. She was not a horse-thief. She was no more dangerous than the beach itself. 

This time, when he reached the archway, he didn’t hesitate. With an indignant swish of his tail, he strode through the door and onto the beach.

He followed the same path as the previous day, all of his senses on high alert. He hadn’t yet decided what he would do when he found her. As certain as he was about his own safety, it still didn’t seem wise to simply march up to her and begin a conversation. For all he knew, this was a place where Talking Beasts had never before ventured, and he didn’t want to alarm her. 

She wasn’t at the same trees as yesterday, and he trotted along several different paths before finding what he was looking for.

He saw a man first. He stared at Bree with a mixture of apprehension and confusion, and Bree defiantly met his gaze. _You’re not dangerous, either,_ he thought.

The man murmured softly to someone in front of him, who whipped her head around to face Bree. It was her.

He nickered softly. There was more fear in her eyes than he ever would have expected, and she approached him very slowly.

“You see that?” she asked, her voice low.

It was an odd thing to say. Bree glanced over his shoulder, checking to see if anything was behind him, but no. She meant Bree. 

“You mean the big-ass horse standing in the middle of the jungle, then… yeah.” 

She inched her way towards Bree. He didn’t run this time, and she lightly skimmed her hands along his nose. He even let her bury her face in his mane, just for a moment, before turning away. 

He decided to walk back the way he came. He was satisfied. No matter how badly he’d be punished, he was very glad he’d come.

“Do you know that horse, Freckles?”

There were leaves everywhere: brushing against his body, crunching under his hooves, catching in his mane. He didn’t mind at all. It was a pleasant feeling.

“Yeah, I do.”

 

-

 

Bree’s absence at home did not go unnoticed, and he was in dreadful trouble when he returned. Truth be told, he did feel rather ashamed of his blatant disobedience, and almost admitted to himself that his mother’s reaction was perfectly fair. Even so, he could not bring himself to regret visiting the humans from the beach. 

He was confined to his family’s home for what felt like months, and he bore his punishment as patiently as could be expected. He began to grow rather twitchy, impatient to get back to the secret beach and explore it even further. It was such an enormous place, and he knew he had still seen barely any of it.

When he was finally allowed to leave his home, he headed straight for the yew trees. He tried as hard as he could to look aimless, but he did a dreadful job. Any trees who saw him were probably not fooled at all. Once the archway was in sight, he broke into a gallop, and hurtled dangerously between the two trunks.

His speed dropped off immediately. Puzzled, he came to a complete stop. He was still in the wood. This was Narnia. Nostrils flaring, he turned around and went back to the yew trees. Maybe he had been a bit too eager, galloping like that. He trotted through the archway at something closer to his usual pace.

No. He was still in Narnia.

Bree stayed for hours, trying everything he could think of. He approached the arch from different angles, both northward and southward. He tried entering at different speeds, he tried closing his eyes – as ridiculous as it made him feel, he even tried walking backwards. 

But it was no use. The doorway to the beach was closed.

 

-

 

Bree was terribly disappointed. He had always been very impatient with beasts who sulked, but there’s no other word to accurately describe his behavior over the following weeks. Bree had no idea why the door had suddenly stopped working, but suspected that it was entirely beyond his control. Sometimes, this can be very reassuring. It means that you can adopt an “oh well, it can’t be helped” sort of attitude, and can continue happily on your way. However, at other times (such as this one), it’s a cause of endless frustration. Bree wanted very badly to return to the secret beach, but there was nothing he could do to make it happen. Absolutely nothing.

He tried his hardest to be mature about it, and filled his days with other activities. He avoided that particular wood, trying his best not to dwell on the secret beach and the humans who he didn’t expect to ever see again.

Many months later, he decided to spend a sunny afternoon indulging in a stroll along the far edge of the Southern slopes. The grass here was particularly luscious, and he was idly considering stopping for a long lunch when he found himself plunged into darkness. He blinked hard, both in surprise, and in an effort to keep the pounding rain out of his eyes. Bewildered, he looked back over his shoulder to see a bright rectangle of Narnian grass and sky amid the dark and gloom.

It didn’t take a genius to work out what had just happened. He’d stumbled across another door. He broke into a joyful canter, barely noticing the thunder that echoed in the distance.

After a few minutes, doubt crept into his mind. Was this really the secret beach? The smell of salt was missing, as were the barely-perceptible vibrations in the air. Also, the land around the secret beach had been full of rocky peaks rising high into the air. This place was almost entirely flat.

There were lights in the distance, intensely bright against the dark sky. This would have almost reminded him of home, but their beams of light seemed harsh and relentless in comparison to the friendly twinkle of Lantern Waste. He slowed to a trot, not quite willing to turn back towards home, but unable to completely ignore the part of his mind that was speaking in his mother’s voice.

He reached the chain of lampposts, and found that they were illuminating a hard, black road. When he stepped out onto it, everything happened at once: a bright light flashed against his eyes and he leapt aside, and a prolonged screech sliced through the air, ending with a loud crunch.

Witnessing a car accident is alarming at the best of times. For Narnian horses, who have generally neither seen nor heard a motor vehicle in their lives, it is utterly petrifying. The whole scene had become unnaturally still, except for the car’s windshield wipers, which seemed to Bree as though they were flailing helplessly at him. He could see humans inside this monster, and correctly guessed that it was some sort of carriage. Still, he couldn’t help feeling terrified of it and of the horrible noises it had made when it crashed.

The humans were fighting; there were dull thuds and shouts of pain, sounds that were soon to become very familiar to him during his days as a battle charger. He was still very shaken from their accident, and his legs were frozen. Even when one human kicked the other out, onto the sodden ground, he kept watching. He had a brief moment of eye contact with the human still inside as she began to drive away, before bolting.

He galloped hard, leaving the road and the humans behind him, spying a distant glimpse of the doorway back to Narnia. He knew he wasn’t being followed, but he had never felt so unsafe. All he wanted was to get back, and when he burst into the sunlight he felt he had never been so glad to be home.

His relief was short-lived. Bree found himself surrounded by shouts, and he narrowly missed running headlong into an exceptionally tall man. He was taken too much by surprise to dodge him swiftly, and he lost enough speed for a rough hand to grab a handful of his mane. Bree screamed in pain, kicking hard with his back legs. He was a big, strong horse, but he was vastly outnumbered, and these men were well-equipped with ropes and harnesses.

“Do what you must to keep it under control, O my Sons,” yelled one, eyes gleaming. “But I want it uninjured. What a find! Worth at least a hundred crescents!”

Bree pulled hard against his captors, but this got him nothing more than a sharp slap against his nose. The ropes rubbed painfully against his neck as the men argued over the best way to spend their hundred crescents.


End file.
